


5 People Bucky Has Kissed and The One He Kissed Again

by MarvelNerd



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 1940s, 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky is catholic, F/M, Gay Bucky Barnes, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Original Character(s), POV Bucky Barnes, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Slash, Sick Steve, bucky discovering himself, bucky is hella in love with steve, its better that way, lets pretend endgame never happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:54:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23475004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarvelNerd/pseuds/MarvelNerd
Summary: Bucky likes kissing girls. He does.That feeling he gets in his stomach whenever he does, the twisting of his guts that makes him want to pack up and leave? He shoves that deep inside him so he never even has to think about it.Right?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Male Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 10
Kudos: 110





	1. Shirley

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is shorter than the others will be. There will be daily updates :)

Bucky was too young to know any better, really. Growing up catholic meant a lot of things and a lot of expectations to live up to. Being the middle child, he was always eager to please and prove to his parents that he could be just as upstanding as his sisters.

Every Sunday, Bucky would eagerly button up his greying suit coat, brush off the shoulders, gell up his hair, and walk up to the altar with a smile on his face. He didn’t just do it out of obligation, he enjoyed doing it. The whole process made him feel like he was a part of something bigger, even if all he really was doing was helping old women up the stairs with a nod of his head and a “ma’am.”

Another thing he liked about church was the girl who sat in the pew across from theirs. Her name was Sherley, and she thought _James_ was the “bee's knees.” He was twelve, and the service had just ended. In his hands was the candle extinguisher, polished brass leaving a waxy slime on his hands when he set it on its hook.

“Would you like to come over for lunch?” Bucky turned around and saw Shirley, standing on the stair below him with her hands folded behind her light blue dress. Her cheeks were flushed a warm shade of pink, and Bucky smiled at her.

“Sure thing, let me ask my ma first,” he winked at her as he turned to go receive permission he already knew he was going to get.

He tugged at her sleeve, “May I go over to Shirley’s house for lunch?”

She huffed at him with a flash of disappointment, “Yes, but be home for supper. And no funny business.”

He grinned at her and strutted off to Shirley, “seems I can go,” he said, but he knew she had been listening anyway. She clung to his arm as they walked out of the church and down the stone steps. They lagged behind her parents, and Bucky could hear his own loafers scuff across the pavement.

“What do you think of me, James,” Shirley asked him suddenly as they passed an elderly couple sitting on a bench. Bucky had been watching them as they got closer. The old man wore a maroon hat tucked over his forehead, tufts of grey hair popping out from the sides of the worn rim. His wife rested her head on his shoulder, dusty pearls resting on her pink overcoat. She was reading the newspaper over his shoulder, and Bucky wondered what it was like to be with someone that long. To love someone like that through wars and hardships.

“James?” 

He blinked at Shirley, realizing he hadn’t answered her question, “I like you lots, darlin,” he flashed a grin at her and she flushed again. A tightness formed in his stomach whenever she did that, and it was a foreign feeling. He wasn’t sure if he hated or loved the rush it gave him.

Lunch with Sherley’s parents was quiet and proper. Her house was bigger than his apartment by at least three times. Her silverware was even pristine, and Bucky felt like when he stood he would leave a stain on the polished mahogany chair.

“What profession are you intending to go into?” Shirley’s father asked him after a sip of tea. He was a bulky man, slicked back blonde hair and bright green eyes. Bucky recognized his accent as german from a radio program he often listened to with his sisters.

“Construction, I think, sir,” Bucky swallowed, and her father raised an eyebrow. He cast his eyes back down to the table.

“Well I think that’s wonderful,” Shirley’s mother added and offered a glance to her husband. Bucky feared his own face was turning pink and suddenly felt an overwhelming feeling that he was too poor to be eating at their dinner table.

“Mother, may we be excused?” Shirley asked, her voice dainty and proper. 

Her father looked like he would protest, but she interrupted, “Yes, you may.”

Shirley stood and curtseyed, reaching for Bucky’s hand. When he stood, he wasn’t sure what to do. Should he bow? Should he nod? What he ended up doing was a broken mixture of the two, and he was glad when Shirley pulled him outside to the backyard.

“I’m sorry about my father,” she said as she pulled him onto a stone bench surrounded by yellow flowers.

“You don’t got anything to be sorry about, ain’t done nothing wrong,” Internally, Bucky scolded himself for his vocabulary. She smiled wryly at him.

“The way you say things, I like it,” she leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed deeply.

This was the moment he should do something, he realized immediately. Shirley was a good girl, catholic and rich. It would be good for his family for him to marry someone like that. She was beautiful too, her features soft and round.

Before he could change his mind, Bucky reached for her chin and kissed her. She made a surprised sound, and he wasn’t sure if he should close his eyes or not. The feeling returned to his stomach, sharp and twisting. Was it always like this? He realized with a fear he didn’t know he had that this was what kissing was. That people who kissed all the time felt this feeling of heaviness in their bodies. If that was the case, why did people kiss at all? 

He didn’t have time to figure it out, her lips were pressed against his and they were wet and dry at the same time like a dirt river bed that someone poured a cup of water onto. Her hands were searching for his hair and it was at this moment when he pulled away, a little breathless and mostly confused.

She looked at him with wide eyes, and he noticed that one was a little lower than the other, “Did I do something wrong?” she asked, and he wanted to say yes, because all of it felt wrong. In fact, he wasn’t even explicitly sure if it was supposed to feel right. With all the bustle of lunch and the fear of disappointing her parents, he hadn’t even thought that kissing Shirley would disappoint himself.

“I need to go,” he said before abruptly standing and straightening his all too wrinkled shirt. He didn’t bother to turn around and see her reaction. There was no point, he already knew he had messed up everything and for some reason, he didn’t mind much at all.


	2. One Bar Girl of Many

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky tried to get Steve to like a girl and ends up with one in an alley instead.

“Hey Stevie, come here,” Bucky said, slamming his fist sloppily on the bar counter. The moon was still low in the sky and he had just downed his third glass of Jack Daniels.

He walked somewhat wobbly, as Steve usually did anyway on knobby knees, next to his side at the end of the bar. His blonde hair was tousled in a way it only was after a long and windy walk from the apartment they shared. 

“Here's the deal,” he said, tossing back the rest of the drink and wiping the dribble from his chin, “See that girl over there?” Steve looked at the woman dancing with her hair drawn back behind her head, “You’re gonna get her pal.”

Steve looked back at him like Bucky had just spoken a fluent sentence in ancient greek and asked him to translate, “Come on buddy, look at her!” Her head was thrown back as her hips moved like flowing liquid to the music from the live band in the corner. In an act that wasn’t entirely in his control, Bucky slapped Steve on the shoulder and pushed him eagerly into the crowd.

Without looking he reached below him and pulled out the barstool just enough to jump and land sitting on it. His next drink was already made for him, and he reached behind himself to retrieve it. Steve wasn’t very good with the ladies, Bucky knew that. He also knew that Steve was one of the best guys he’d ever known and any lady that spent any time getting to know him would agree. 

The bar they were at wasn’t particularly ordinary. It was on the lower side of Brookline, the area where different types of people lied to be. It wasn’t a prissy, upper class, pool bar. It was the kind Bucky liked to get drunk at and show off the footwork he so effortlessly executed. He loved music, and he loved people. Put together he got his favorite activity. 

Dancing was something that always made him feel better. Even if it was the most shit day on the docks, or he had gotten into some fight with Steve because he was too reckless with his own health and wellbeing, Bucky could always find himself moving to the music and letting his body release everything it carried.

“You seem to be watching someone else in the crowd,” It was a silky voice to his left that called to him, and he looked at her. Her eyes were a deep shade of brown, framed by perfectly thin eyeliner and just the slightest ghost of eyeshadow. Bucky smirked at her, even though he felt like she was calling him out for something he didn’t know he was doing wrong.

“I don’t see you looking anywhere else,” he lifted his eyebrows and took a sip of his drink. She was black, he wasn’t supposed to be flirting with black girls. His mother would beat him if she knew, but he was four drinks in and didn’t care in the slightest.

“Smooth,” she took a drag of a cigarette and blew it into the crowd. Bucky leaned closer to her and his nose caught the scent of sweetness from her perfume. 

“A skill of mine,” he moved closer to her and leaned to whisper into her ear, “I’ve got a few.” Her hand reached out to grab his lapel and he felt her hot breath on his neck.

“Why don’t we find out,” she tugged him close enough so that their lips were a brush away from each other.

“Let’s go out back,” and then they were standing, and heading to the alley behind the bar. 

As soon as they got there he had her pressed against the brick wall covered in countless stains from situations he’d rather not think about. She was slim and easy to wrap his arms around. The brick was rough against his palms as he ground his hips into her waist and ravished her lips. She bit at him, and he let a breath escape his parted mouth.

It wasn’t the first time he had brought a girl to this alley. There had been many, and every time the same, twisted feeling in his gut would come back. He had learned a lot since he was twelve though, about how to shove it deep inside him and treat it like a wart or rash. Something that would always linger but could be ignored if done so properly. 

She pulled at his jacket and he let it fall to the ground, her hands suddenly under his white shirt and moving down. He liked this, the rush it gave him. The way they would kiss him and touch him like he was something they wanted, even if it was just to use him for something else. Hell, half the time he was sure they were thinking of someone else entirely. Bucky had never once let himself think of anyone else, he was too afraid to find out what his mind would conjure. After all, he had gotten fairly good at shoving things deep inside himself.

Moving one hand from the wall, he slid his hand up her waist to cup her breast, and she moaned into his mouth.

He liked this, he told himself. It was invigorating.

After, when he had helped her button her dress back up and kissed her flushed lips once more, he realized he had never asked for her name. It didn’t matter, he’d never see her again.

Back inside, he immediately spotted Steve sitting at the bar. The girl from the dance floor was noticeably absent.

“Hey, look Stevie it’s ok,” he placed a dirty hand on Steve’s shoulder and squeezed, “You’ll find someone, I promise.”

Steve looked him up and down, noticed his disheveled hair and wrinkled clothes and scoffed. “You never seem to have any trouble.”

Bucky flushed as if he had been scolded. Steve always found a way to do this, unintentionally make him feel guilty for what he did. Hell, his religion should do that on its own, but Bucky  needed this release he got from the girls he fucked in alleys. He needed to get out of his own head sometimes, even if he felt the knot of despair in his stomach every time he did it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are much appreciated!


	3. Carl

The air was thick from salt and oil, a flat sheet of soot from the cargo ships that he unloaded every backbreaking day. It was July, and a temperature Bucky didn’t even want to think about. His shirt was sealed to his back from sweat and his head was starting to get fuzzy from it.

“James,” Carl, another dock worker interrupted him as he reached for another crate on the platform.

“What,” Bucky snapped.

“Take a break, you look a little uneasy,” Carl was a tall guy. Taller than Bucky, even. He had a nicely trimmed beard that wrapped all the way around his neck and above his lip, black but starting to wear with sun-bleached grey.

“I’m fine, Carl, really,” He reached for the box again, and Carl grabbed his hand to stop it.

“You’ve been working since six, it’s four and 95 degrees. You’re gonna get a heat stroke if you keep this up.”

Bucky slumped off from Carl with a concealed look of relief. This week had been difficult, not only because of the suffocating heat but because Steve was sick again. It was pneumonia this time and Bucky didn’t even know Steve managed to get pneumonia in the middle of the summer but here they were. All he wanted to do was go home, take a cold bath, and dab a cool cloth over Steve’s forehead as his back was propped up by old pillows. 

He was home alone right now, in a house that was too hot and almost out of asthma cigarettes because Bucky was short on cash from the bills of the month and couldn’t afford to buy more. He hated that he couldn’t make the money that Steve deserved. Couldn’t buy him nice sketchbooks and pencils and oil paint sets. Maybe if he had stayed with Shirley he would have been able to give him things like that

Then again Bucky wouldn’t give anything up for the life they had in their small apartment because at the end of the day the only thing Bucky ever wanted was Steve.

“Drink this,” Carl handed him a flask filled with water, and it was warm, but Bucky gulped it all down despite himself. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth from dryness and when the water filled his mouth he peeled it off and let it swirl the liquid around.

Carl was staring at him, concerned in a way people normally weren't about him. His eyes were kind, unlike most of the bastards that hauled crates on the dock. Most of the guys there were assholes that liked to punch skinny kids for fun and beat the shit out of anyone else for no reason at all. Bucky hated them all, and he couldn’t wait for the day he could get out of there and get a real job.

All at once, a searing pain lurched into his skull as if he had been hit with a fastball. His vision blurred, and he felt himself falling forward off the curb. Then there were firm arms around him, all skin from a ripped tank top and he was being eased up again.

“Easy Barnes,” Carl said, and Bucky became acutely aware of the heavy smell of sweat, grime, and mint soap flowing from the man. The noises around him were suddenly all too loud, the banging of the crates, the crashing of the waves, the shouts of the men. Bucky got these headaches sometimes, when everything around him suddenly felt overwhelming and the world seemed to crash on top of him.

“That’s it,” Carl said, and Bucky didn’t even realize he was standing, “come on,” he allowed himself to be led to God knows where, and shut his eyes.

When he opened them again he was on a bed, cool wetness on his eyelids. The pain hit him like a truck, and a groan escaped his mouth before he could stop it.

“Easy,” a voice said above him, gentle and soft. Carl was there when Bucky opened his eyes. His hair was wet and combed back, he had obviously showered, and his shirt was missing entirely.

Bucky startled up, and a rush went to his head, “James, come on now stop it,” Carl eased him back down onto the mattress.

“How long have I been asleep?” He asked and heard the hoarseness of his own voice. When he moved his tongue to speak, he was met with the bitter taste of leftover vomit.

“Two hours, before then you managed to puke your fucking guts out on my kitchen floor,” his lip twitched when he said that, and Bucky felt guilty as hell.

“You didn’t have to take me here,” he said because he didn’t know what else to say.

“What else was I going to do? I thought you were gonna croak if I didn’t give you some water and a cool compress. You were burning up.”

It had been a heat stroke then. Bucky looked down and saw that his own shirt was gone too. “Where’s my-”

“I hung it up to dry, you were gonna overheat so I took it off and rinsed it.” A warmth crept its way into Bucky’s stomach, Carl had done way more than Bucky would have ever expected him to.

With a terrifying smack, Bucky came out of his daze. Steve was home, and Bucky was already an hour late, and he was sick- he scrambled to his feet, “I have to go-” he said, and his head was buzzing from standing too quickly.

“Wait, come to the kitchen first, have something to drink, your shirt needs a few more minutes to dry”, Bucky swallowed and felt the dryness in his throat and nodded. He was silent as Carl filled a glass for him and placed a square of bread on a plate.

He watched as his host moved to the sink, lines of muscle rippling with each movement, to wash some dishes sitting on the counter. His skin was golden from the work in the sun, red spots from burns dotting his back and shoulders. Bucky swallowed the feeling in his stomach down with a gulp of water.

“You were mumbling about someone,” Carl said as he dried off a bowl with a chip on the rim. Bucky felt the beat of his pulse pick up. “You kept calling for a Steve.”

“He’s my...” Bucky fumbled, “Friend.”

Carl turned around and walked back to the table, abandoning his dishes, “Is he ok?”

Bucky cleared his throat, “He’s sick right now.”

Carl nodded sympathetically, “I see.”

When he stood to leave, Carl went out back to get his shirt, and when he handed it over, their hands brushed.

“Thank you, Carl, I owe you,” Bucky said while tugging it on, and Carl pursed his lips.

“Anytime.”

It was an odd thing the feeling that overtook him, like paddling through a calm river only to reach the end of a waterfall and go tumbling down. He reached forward and then his hand was on Carl’s hip, warm and soft flesh pursed beneath his fingertips.

Their lips met before Bucky even knew what he was doing, and his mind searched frantically for the knot that was usually in his stomach. The one he had convinced himself was part of kissing and sex. He wanted it to tell him this was wrong and he should punch Carl in the face, call him some slur, and never look back.

The feeling was nowhere to be found. 

Kissing Carl was so different than kissing any girl he had ever kissed. Carl was strong and familiar. Kissing someone with the same body felt more natural than anything he had ever done in his life, and running his hands up a torso without breasts was incredibly intoxicating.

They were on the couch now, and Carl’s hands were stripping off his freshly dried shirt, and Bucky felt like he was on fire. As if Satan himself had lit a match under his skin and he was burning alive from sensation. His mind was escaping to places it had never been as Carl’s fingers danced along his belt buckle and unlatched it. 

He imagined small hands and soft skin, bright blue eyes and blonde hair that refused to be controlled. A thin frame so delicate and beautiful under his fingertips and begging him to never stop.

The hand was wrapped around him now and he felt himself rising to a peak he had never reached before, and just as his stomach clenched in release he heard the name “Steve” escape his lips and into the muscular shoulder his face was pressed into.

Carl stopped abruptly, even though Bucky was already finished, and he realized what he had done. Panic seized him and he tore himself away from the hot body underneath him. Carl was flushed and pink, purple spots starting to form around his neck and chest.

His face was firm like he had expected something like this to happen but hoped it wouldn’t.

“Carl I-”

Carl ran a hand over his sweat-slicked shoulder, “maybe you should go.”

Bucky nodded, and upon standing he remembered that he was covered in his own filth. He wiped it quickly with his shirt and then slipped it back on, feeling totally disgusting and like he wanted to tie cinder blocks to his ankles and jump off the dock.

He left without another word and stumbled back to his apartment.

The door unlocked with a silent click, and he made his way into the bedroom as the light had started to fade from the window.

“Steve,” he gulped nervously, sitting down on the apple crate he had set up next to the bed they shared. He was asleep, mouth parted slightly as wheezes puffed out of it. Bucky reached out and ran a hand over his fever slicked forehead.

“Bucky?” Steve mumbled, and his eyes opened slightly.

“Hey,” Bucky smiled at him and tried to make it look like he hadn’t just made the worst mistake of his life.

“Your home late, is everything ok?” Steve always saw through him. Always.

“Yeah everything is fine, just had some extra things to do for my boss,” Bucky hated the way his gut twisted. He hated lying to Steve, who was either too far gone to notice how disheveled he looked or choosing to ignore it.

“It’s boring as hell here,” Steve laughed, a small thing that came from his nose, and Bucky was so relieved to hear it he thought he would cry.


	4. Steve, For the First Ti

There was a letter sitting on the floor when Bucky got home from work one day. Steve was out of the apartment and heading to the store to pick up some groceries for supper.

_ United States Government Selective Service _

He stared at the postage stamp in total shock. It wasn’t like he didn’t know a war was going on. Steve was going on and on about it for weeks, he had even tried to enlist. They had rejected him, of course, he was too sick.

Bucky didn’t want to go to war. He hated the thought of leaving Steve behind and fending for himself. It was an unspeakable nightmare that he never wanted to think about again. Now with the letter in his shaking hand, a lump formed in his throat.

Slowly, as if he were walking through a pool of honey, he walked to their tiny couch and sat on the cushions and opened the letter.

_____________________________________________________________________________

_ Order to Report for Induction _

**Greeting:**

Having submitted yourself to a local board composed of your neighbors for the purpose of determining your availability for training and service in the armed forces of the United States, you are hereby notified that you have now been selected for training and service in the  **ARMY**

You will, therefore, report to the local board named at  **Brooklyn, New York** at  **8 A.** m, on the  **__** **26th** **__** day of  **_** **February** **_** ,  **1943** .

  
  


_____________________________________________________________________________

February 26th…. Bucky thought about it. That was in two weeks. He had two weeks of his normal life, his small and amazing life with Steve before he was shipped off to fight in a war he wanted nothing to do with. 

Bile rose in his throat, but he swallowed it down. The sun was starting to set through the window overlooking the street. The street of the city he loved. Blearily, he blinked away the tears threatening to fall from his eyes.

“Hey, Buck, you’ll never guess-” The front door opened and Steve stepped through with a bag from the grocery store. With one look at Bucky, sitting on the couch frozen, he came over ad dropped to his knees in front of him.

“Bucky what is it? What’s wrong?”

Bucky looked up from the letter, up to Steve.  _ His  _ Steve. Carefully, he drank in every feature on his face. His eyes that lit up whenever they caught inspiration for art, or when Bucky came home with the good coffee he bought this time. His nose and the way it was a little slanted form a fight they had with three guys a few years ago. Blonde hair that stuck to his forehead with the smallest layer of sweat.

“I’ve been drafted,” He said, not looking away and clenching the letter tighter in his hand. Steve’s face fell, and Bucky wanted to cry. He wanted to curse the universe, God, anyone who would listen because this wasn’t fair. 

“Oh Bucky,” Steve sat down on the couch next to him and leaned his head on Bucky’s shoulder. Taking a deep breath, Bucky smelled his cheap lavender soap and wooden pencils, fresh air and fresh bread from the bakery he had to pass to get home. To  _ their  _ home.

They sat in silence for a while, the light buzzing of a lightbulb and clatter of rusting water pipes. In a desperate attempt to get away, Bucky stood to put the groceries away in the fridge. No use in letting the milk spoil, if they were even able to afford milk this week. He slammed the can of peas down harder on the counter than he meant to, and saw Steve flinch out of the corner of his eye.

Guilt overwhelmed him. How many other men were being drafted? Ones with actual wives and children and people that depended on them. Bucky was a poor, gay, and single kid from Brooklyn. He was basically worthless to society and had no right to be upset.

“I’m going out for a drink,” Bucky said, leaving the kitchen, grabbing his jacket, and not looking back.

He walked far away from the apartment and was on his way to the only gay bar that hadn’t been busted in the past few weeks when he saw his childhood church. It had been years since he had gone anywhere near it, not since Steve’s mom died. He felt too guilty to go there, too sinful and dirty.

For a reason unknown to himself, Bucky pushed open the strong oak door and let himself in. Some candles were lit at the front of the church, and Bucky walked quietly to the pew his family used to own. There were some other people inside, praying to themselves in their own pews. Bucky wondered briefly what they were praying about. Was someone they knew sick? Were they sick? Could they not make rent this month? 

He mindlessly stared at the stained glass mural of Jesus on the cross. The martyr that sacrificed himself for all of humanity. Would Bucky become a martyr? Would he die on the field of war and, his fellow soldiers having been enraged by his assassination, scream his name as they attacked the ones who had stripped his life from him? He scoffed at the idea, no one would mourn his death. No one but Steve.

The thought of Steve made him want to sob. No dame, no girlfriend or quick fuck he had ever been with made him feel the way Steve made him feel. Steve was his sun, radiating the heat that kept him alive and Bucky was exhilarated by the chance to orbit him. His soul was so good, in fact, most of the time it was so altruistic that he ended up hurting himself in an attempt to help others.

Bucky rubbed a hand over his face to clear the wetness that had started to collect in his eyes. He was a pathetic piece of shit, that’s what he was. Steve was home right now, in their apartment. Bucky had two precious weeks left with him and he was spending it feeling sorry for himself in a church.

He practically sprinted back to the apartment, and when he opened the door Steve was in their bedroom, one leg thrown out the window with his sketchbook in his lap. He looked curiously at Bucky when he came into the bedroom.

“You didn’t go to the bar,” He said matter of factly.

“No, I didn’t,” there was no more to say. No excuse he could conjure up.

“I see.”   


There was a beat of silence and Bucky couldn’t take it anymore. He stood abruptly and went to the windowsill, brought Steve into his arms, and hugged him as tight as he could.

“I’m sorry Steve,” he said, voice sounding a little more horse than he wanted it to, “I’m so sorry.”

Steve leaned back from the embrace and looked at him, “Why are you sorry?”

And Bucky almost burst out laughing because that was a loaded question, “I don’t know buddy, I’m just sorry.” They clung to each other until Bucky sat himself down on the bed. They lay pressed together in the chill of the January air, and Bucky didn’t sleep a wink. He spent the night memorizing every line, every bone, of the body he held.

Over the next few days, Bucky devised a plan to keep Steve alive and not so lonely while he was gone. Which, he hoped wouldn’t be forever, but very well could be. He set up more double dates than he could count, and every single one ended in failure. This happened both because of the girl’s unfounded lack of interest in Steve and because of Bucky’s lack of interest in the girls. 

Every night after the failures, Bucky would walk home with Steve half-drunk on his arm as they laughed about stories of their messed up childhoods. They were the best nights of Bucky’s life. With every drink, it became harder and harder for Bucky to restrain himself. He was leaving in two days, and he hadn’t told Steve how he felt. 

Bucky was pretty good at fucking everything in his life up, and he didn’t want to fuck the friendship he valued more than anything in his life too. Instead, he burned every night he spent cuddling up to Steve in their bed into his memory so he could resurface it on cold nights spent in tents in Berlin.

-

“Pass the salt, would you Buck?” Steve asked, standing next to him in the kitchen and making his mother’s signature chicken soup recipe. Being their second to last night together, they had saved up in order to afford chicken for the supper. It always brought back memories of the early days of their friendship and took their minds off what was coming in 48 hours.

“Sure thing,” he passed it over and Steve ground it into the pot, “We’ve got one more date tomorrow night Stevie,” he added, “I really think this one will like you.” He added a smile and Steve rolled his eyes.

“You say that every time,” he replied. It was true, he said it every time. The thing was this time it was their last chance, well, Bucky’s last chance to be reassured that Steve wouldn’t be alone in all this. All Bucky wanted was to spend their last night together curled around the radio with mugs of hot chocolate together. 

The soup was delicious, and they ate it with greedy smiles. When it was time for bed, they once again curled up into each other.

-

The girls, per usual, wanted nothing to do with Steve. He had brought them to the Stark Expo, and while he probably should have been paying closer attention to the girls, he spent his whole night watching Steve’s amazed expression at the cars and devices on stage.

“Hey Steve, what do you say we treat these girls-” he turned around again, and Steve was gone. The smile fell from his face, and panic ensued. He ran out of the convention center searching with frantic eyes. Where had he gone? Was he being beaten up? Then Bucky saw the army recruitment center, and he knew. 

Steve was standing in the goddamn soldier spot and he was too short for it. Bucky would laugh if he didn’t feel like crying half the night.

“Come on, you’re kinda missing the point of a double date,” he laughed, grabbing his shoulder. What he really meant was,  _ I don’t want to spend any of this night not right beside you, and if I have to ditch those girls who I don’t really care about to do it, then that’s totally okay. _

“You go ahead I’ll catch up,” Steve said, and Bucky wanted to punch him. 

“You’re really gonna do this again?” And he was so tired, so tired of this. He hated that he was leaving Steve behind, but he hated more than anything to see him go into war. Steve was too kind-hearted for war, too frail. He’d snap in an instant and Bucky wouldn’t be there to protect him. The thought of it made him want to throw up.

“It’s a fair, I’m gonna try my luck,” Steve shrugged.

“As who, Steve from Ohio!” Bucky clenched his fists behind his back, “They’ll catch you worse they’ll actually take you.” His blood was roaring in his ears. All he could see was Steve laying in the dirt, covered in his own blood that was streaming from his head.

“Look I know you don’t think I can do this-”

“This isn’t a back alley Steve it’s war!”  _ Steve leaning against a tree, shot in the side, bleeding out alone in the grass, _ “Why are you so keen to fight there are so many important jobs!”  _ Steve behind a pile of sandbags, bombs exploding all around him and shrapnel flying into his neck… _

“So what am I gonna do, collect scrap metal in my little red wagon?”

“Yes!”  _ Because you’ll be safe. At home. In Brooklyn. And I can go on fighting knowing you will be here when I get home.  _

“I’m not gonna sit in a factory Bucky, Bucky come on there are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them, that’s what you don’t understand. This isn’t about me.”

Too altruistic, too uncaring for his own needs. That’s what Bucky thought, and his mind desperately rang with the fact that it was their last night together and they were arguing.

“Right, because you’ve got nothing to prove,” and Bucky wanted to cry because Steve had nothing to prove. He didn’t have to prove anything to anyone. Bucky would be there no matter what the hell happened and he hated that that would never be enough.  _ I just want you to be safe _ -

“Hey Bucky!” the girls he had totally forgotten about, “Are we going dancing?”

“Yes, we are!” He said all too enthusiastically like he wanted to get away and ship off now. 

He turned around and paused because this is not how he wanted this night to end. 

“Don’t do anything stupid until I get back,” he sighed, giving in.

“How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you,” he replied, and Bucky wanted to tell him so many things.  _ I love you, I have loved you for years. I just want you to be safe _ -

“Punk,” he said instead and hugged him like it was the last time ever, which it probably would be.

“Jerk,” Steve hugged him back, and Bucky closed his eyes and tried to remember everything.

“Be careful,” Steve said when they let go, “Don’t win the war till I get there.”

Bucky saluted him, went off to the closest bar, danced for a while, and got way drunker than he should have.

He was supposed to stay at a friend’s who lived closer to the military base so he could make it on time in the morning, but he was too drunk, and he couldn’t bear to spend his last night in New York without Steve, so he stumbled all the way to their apartment.

Steve was sitting at their table, a letter in his hand. Bucky was too drunk to even notice.

“Steve,” he said, stumbling closer. Steve was surprised, clearly.

“Bucky?”

And before Bucky could even stop himself, he was kissing him, and sparks were going off in his stomach and his head was screaming and _yes, yes, yes-_

Steve pulled away, “What is going on?” his cheeks were flushed and Bucky wanted to kiss them.

“I couldn’t-” he heaved a breath, “I couldn’t leave without telling you I love you.”

Steve stared at him, mouth open and eyes wide. Bucky’s heart dropped into his stomach, and he suddenly felt infinitely soberer.

“I don’t know what to say,” Steve said, and tears were in his eyes.

“Oh god Stevie, I’m so sorry,” he wiped furiously at his eyes, “I shouldn’t have- oh god what have I done.”

“Bucky, Bucky, stop, look at me,” and Bucky did, hands pulling at his own hair.  _ He’ll hate me-,  _ “Why are you telling me this now? I never thought-” and then Steve was wrapped around him again, and they held each other tightly.

Steve looked up and Bucky saw the tears in his eyes. He leaned down and pressed their foreheads together, smelling the alcohol on Steve’s tongue.

“I love you too Buck, Jesus,” and they were kissing again, and Bucky was sure he was dreaming, “What about the girls?” he said when the pulled apart again.

“Forget them,” he said, kissing Steve’s neck. Then they were in their small cot, the wind blowing through the window, kissing lazily and touching. Through the night, all the way till the sun was high in the sky, they held each other, and Bucky sobbed into Steve’s shoulder. He didn’t want to go, but he had to be at the base in two hours, so they stood up together slowly and helped the other dress.

Bucky clenched his bag in his hand at the door.

“I love you, Stevie. I’ll come back for ya,” and he leaned in again and kissed him once more. He was granted a single, fleeting smile, and then he turned around to leave.

He had totally forgotten about the letter that Steve had been clutching the previous night.


	5. Charles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this is as late as it is, I've been swarmed with online work and couldn't find the time to write. Thank you for your continued support!

Bucky’s foot was on a bench, shoelace dangling on either side of his boot as he fumbled to tie them. Sweat was pouring down his face, and his shoulders ached from the pack he carried on his back.

He’d been in Sweden for two weeks, and he wanted to go home. He missed his apartment, he missed his bed, and more than anything he missed Steve. On the rare nights he got a cot to sleep on, it was cold and lonely. Sometimes he would wake up in the middle of the night, clutching beside himself at sheets for Steve, willing him to be there.

It was a good thing he wasn’t there, Bucky told himself every time his thoughts betrayed him. It was a good thing he wasn’t subjected to the blood and gore and horror that Bucky saw every day and when he closed his eyes. Steve was home, safe, and that was all that mattered.

“Barnes!” A loud voice shouted in his ear, “Get moving, alright! You’re gonna get left behind if you keep pulling shit like that.” 

Charles had been the one that scolded him. The man was brutish in both appearance and his opinions. His hair was a deep brown, cut down to military standards before he even joined the fight. Bucky wasn’t sure what to think of Charles, he was handsome, that much he was certain of, but not in the way Steve was. 

“Yeah alright, alright,” Bucky huffed, removing his foot and catching up to the man.

Their feet struck the dirt in tandem, a marching rhythm that Bucky had gotten used to. It helped him focus, keep his mind off where he was and what he was doing there. The other night they had a shootout with a pocket of German soldiers that came out of nowhere. A guy from his unit, Rand, was shot in the face. Right between his eyes. Blood splattered all over him, hot and thick, the metallic smell overwhelming him until he gagged from it.

-

They set up camp that night in a clearing surrounded by thick pines. There was snow on the ground, only a light sheet of ice. For the first time in days, they were able to light a fire, as they were far enough away from the enemy territory for the smoke to not alert them of their presence. 

Bucky sat on a log across from a scrawny kid he’d never seen before and next to Charles. Close up, Bucky could see black soot-stained on his hands underneath the layers of dirt and blood. They were scarred from what looked like ruler marks, and for some reason, Bucky wanted to run his fingers over them. The man gave off a calming presence, and Bucky drank it in like he was a man dying from thirst. He wasn’t stupid, he knew it was a bad idea to get too attached to anyone out here, but in matters such as these Bucky often felt he had no control.

“Do you have a family at home?” Bucky asked when the fire had started to die down and Charles was sipping on a flask of whiskey. His lips puckered around the rim whenever he drank from it, coming back wet with the golden liquid.

Charles tensed and grasped the flask tighter, “A sister, she’s just a kid really.” Bucky nodded and fiddled with his dog tags, “How about you?”

His breath caught in his throat at the thought of Steve, “Just a roommate.” Charles returned the nod and paused.

“No girl?”

Bucky scoffed and kicked stray coal back into the pit, “Nah, no girl.”

Charles smiled at him, a crooked thing that made Bucky’s heart flutter, and handed him the flask. 

-

Through the sounds of gunfire and screams, Bucky thought he could hear the faint chirping of birds. It wasn’t the normal kind of chirping, happy songs exchanged between freely flying blue jays. Instead, it sounded more like the squeak of a dying animal, and he realized that’s probably what it was.

“Barnes, look at me, come on,” the voice was soft and reassuring, familiar at this point, “You’ve lost a lot of blood alright? I need you to stay awake.”

There was a buzzing in his right ear, what was it from? Had Steve turned the radio up too loud again? He pretended to hate when he did that, but really he actually loved to see-

“James!” hands were slapping his cheek, why was he trying to wake him up? Couldn’t he just sleep? His body felt like it was floating on a cloud- “Jesus, alright, I’m gonna get you out of here pal.” And then there were strong arms around him and his head lolled back as he was carried through the swarm of dying men to God knows where.

“Nurse,” Charles’s voice was frantic, heaving gasps of breath mixed with hoarse coughs, “He’s been shot, in the shoulder.”

Shot? He was shot? It didn’t feel like he was- 

The pain hit him with more force than he had ever felt in his entire life. Something came out of his mouth, but he wasn’t sure what it was. The nurse was pressing on his shoulder with all her weight and his eyes filled with stars.

“James, stay with me James,” Charles’s voice echoed in his head, but it was morphing into another one.  _ Hey Bucky, you’ve gotta stay alive. Till the end of the line, remember? Can’t leave me alone here in New York. _

“Steve-,” he mumbled, “Steve.”

“What’s he saying?” Charles started, now on the side with the nurse and digging through his arm with some tool-

It was so easy to drift off. Picture himself back home, curled in bed with Steve and a hot cup of coffee, or hot chocolate, or anything at all. If he focused really hard, he could almost smell the lavender soap and a dopey smile crossed his face before everything turned black.

-

He was alone on the stretcher when his eyes blinked open. A groan of pain fell from his lips before he could stop it, and when his senses returned to him the sound of gunfire was gone and the smell of sulfur lingered in the air.

“You’re awake,” a woman, the nurse (he assumed), said a little flippantly.

Bucky eyed her up and down and smirked, “Lucky for you.” She snorted, and Bucky felt a little insulted.

“Your friend was worried about you,” she raised an eyebrow, and Bucky decided he liked her for some reason. 

“He does that, I guess.” Bucky was lying through his teeth, he barely knew the guy. He tried to move, but heat burned in his shoulder and he was being pushed back down.

“Easy there soldier, don’t rip out the stitches,” she handed him a plastic cup with two pill capsules in it and he swallowed them down without water.

“When can I get back to duty?”

She sighed and arranged some medical supplies on a tray, “A week if everything goes as smoothly as expected.”

Bucky ran his good hand over his eye. A week was an eternity without anything to do, his mind would wander to home, and that was never good for him.

“Thank you, ma’am, for everything,” he smiled a genuine smile of gratitude at her.

“Just doing my job.”

-

“Feeling better?” Charles came in to see him the next morning. A bandage was placed above his eye, but other than that he looked unharmed by the battle.

“Sort of,” Bucky swallowed, “How many men?”

Charles glanced at the ground and ran a hand through his hair, “four hundred, conservatively.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky closed his eyes and tried to think of nothing at all.

“Yeah, well, be glad you weren't one of them. I saved your sorry ass, you owe me, Barnes.” He flicked a toothpick in his mouth with his tongue.

Bucky snorted and glanced up at him. Charles’s eyes were soft, watching him closely where he lay in the cot. He looked tired. The man usually stood up tall and strong, it was something Bucky figured had been beaten into him from the ruler marks on his hands. Right now his shoulders were slumped and he seemed to be leaning on the tent pole with all his weight.

“I guess I do.”

Bucky wasn’t surprised that as soon as he could stand Charles had him against a tree. This wasn’t going to be like it was with Carl. He knew what he wanted, and he knew Charles was fully willing to provide.

It was dark, everyone was already asleep. At their usual spot, they met near midnight to have a cigarette and before Bucky could even vocalize his approval Charles was pushing him against a spruce tree. The bark stung the stitches on his shoulder even though it was covered and it felt amazing. The pain of it all distracted him from what he was doing, and who it was, or more importantly wasn’t, about to fuck.

“You ever been with a man?” Bucky managed to gasp between hurried kisses.

Charles breath stilled for a moment, “Once,” he said harshly.

Bucky nodded and bent his head for another kiss. It felt good to kiss Charles, his hair stood on end and his dick wasn’t disappointed either. His hands were making quick work of Bucky’s jacket, and then he was on his knees and Bucky’s eyes squeezed shut.

What Steve would or wouldn’t think about what was going on right now didn’t faze him. Steve was home safe, he had to be safe. Safe, safe, safe-

A breath fell from his lips and he focused more on staying silent, reaching down to pull at clumps of brown hair. It was becoming increasingly obvious to Bucky that Charles had lied.

“Jesus fuck,” he mumbled, craning his neck. Charles smiled around him, a tight-lipped and filthy thing. Bucky finished without warning, and he spat it out in the grass next to them. They panted together for a moment before Bucky realized Charles had finished himself off too.

Charles stood, looking suddenly very put together and dignified, “tomorrow, Barnes?”

Bucky smiled and attempted to fix himself, "yeah alright."

How was he supposed to know they would get captured by Hyrda the next day?


	6. It was always you, Stevie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's final kiss, the only one he ever really cared about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's quite embarrassing how long it took me to actually finish this fic, but better late than never, right? Anyway, I wanted to get the last chapter out there, I hate leaving people that actually want to finish things on the hook. As a reader, it drives me mad. Anyway, thank you in advance for reading, and have a nice day :)

The room was dark. Hell, it was so dark, Bucky couldn’t even see his boots if he managed to move his head that much. How long had he been strapped to this metal table? He honestly didn’t remember. The only memories that continued to repeat were of metal instruments being jabbed into various portions of his body. Pain became the new normal, and he supposed that’s what he deserved.

Under it all though, the memory of Steve and their apartment kept him breathing. Every time he felt like giving up, he swore he could smell lavender soap and charcoal waft into his nose. When they had been taken by Hydra, Bucky was selected for ‘intermedial medical experimentation’ whatever that meant. He had no idea what happened to the other men, but he could only assume the worst.

It was always so quiet in his medical cell he almost forgot other people existed in the world, that’s why it was odd when he heard the muffled commotion coming from the hallway. 

“No more, please,” he slurred from dry, blood-stained lips, “32557038,” he said again because that’s what he had been programmed to say. “32557-”

“Bucky-” he felt hands on his legs. Bucky’s eyes widened, the voice sounded familiar but he knew his mind was playing tricks on him.  _ Please _ he thought,  _ please no more _ .

Then, the straps around him were being undone, and his eyes started to focus- was that?

“It’s me,” the man said with an apprehensive smile, “It’s Steve.”

“Steve,” Bucky muttered, feeling a drug-induced grin drag across his face. It was ok his mind was playing tricks on him. It was a reprieve from the torture and he reveled in it.

Steve hauled him off the table and Bucky clung to him like a child lost and found again. It wasn’t an illusion, Steve was here. But why was he so big? It didn’t matter, none of it mattered because Steve’s hand was on his cheek and Bucky felt himself lean desperately into it, the feeling it provided unmatched by anything he could possibly ever feel again.

“I thought you were dead,” Steve said.

Bucky looked him up and down again, feeling slightly as if the drugs Hydra had pumped into him weren't gone yet, “I thought you were smaller.”

Then there was a crash in the hallway, and he was chasing after Steve. Just like old times.

“What happened to you,” he asked while being hauled like a sack of sad potatoes.

“I joined the army.”

_ Wiseass,  _ Bucky thought, “Is it permanent?” He wasn’t sure what he was going to do with mega-Steve, the small one was enough of a handful as it was. 

“So far,” Steve laughed.  _ Great _ .

Then they were jumping off a bridge, and Bucky simply wasn’t going to leave him. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, every beat in his heart screaming at him that he couldn’t do it- he couldn’t go on without Steve. If Steve didn’t make it, he might as well jump into the fire. 

“Go! Get out of here!” Steve called, eyes frantic.

“No! Not without you!” The words left his throat strangled like a feral animal screaming at its last chance for survival. Every thought rushed into his head at once;  _ Steve in bed sick, Steve eating warm broth on a cool fall day, the smile on his face that one Christmas where Bucky could afford pencils. _

Steve jumped, no- leaped across the fire in a feat that made Bucky’s jaw drop. Nothing mattered anymore because Steve made it across, and everything was going to be alright. On the march back to the camp, Bucky wanted nothing more than to ravish him right then and there. He felt like he was floating on the moon, and with a glance at Steve, he waited for it to be returned. There was something missing in Steve’s eyes- something that made Bucky uneasy, but he tried his best to ignore it and revel in the moment.

Peggy was the missing thing. Bucky knew this would happen. He knew that Steve would never be  _ his  _ and that there would always be a girl that would steal his heart. From the moment he saw their reunion to the minute she walked into the bar in that red dress, Bucky knew he had already lost to her. 

It was like he had been playing the same game of baseball his whole life, standing there with the bat and waiting to sprint to home base. The night before he shipped out, he had hit the ball far enough outfield to make it so close, he thought he could squeeze by and just before he hit home Peggy had tagged his ass right where it hurt. No attempt at flirting when he mentioned Steve’s uniform would ever change that.

He tried not to hate himself for it. He tried to learn to appreciate Peggy the way Steve did so he could be supportive, but it never worked. More often than not, he found himself grateful Charles had survived the camps so he could release his heartbreak with a late-night fuck.

It was a cold night camped out near Munich to raid the next Hydra base when Steve woke him up. The fire had long died out, and every other man was out cold on the ground. It was Steve's watch duty.

“Bucky,” his voice was thick with hesitance.

“Is something wrong?” Bucky replied, reaching for his rifle.

“No-” Steve reached to touch the bare skin exposed at his wrist and Bucky felt it prickle, “Just come with me.”

Bucky did, of course, thick boots crunching on grass that had started to ice over. Out of thin air, Steve whipped his around into a tree and kissed him with such strength Bucky was worried about a bruise. It felt like God had opened up the sky, and before Bucky could rationally think about what was happening he doubled the passion he put into every movement. Steve's hands were under his shirt when he finally managed to pull away

“Steve what are you-” Steve pulled away to wipe his mouth, and Bucky saw the tears in his eyes.

“I haven't forgotten about that night,” he said, and Bucky swallowed. “I wanted- no,” he paused to reposition his hands on Bucky’s waist, “I needed you to know I still feel the same.”

“Steve you don’t have to do this,” Bucky pushed away, but Steve’s grip was tight. He really had gotten stronger, “I know you love Peggy. It’s ok, I’m happy for you-”   
  


“I like Peggy, sure, but it’s always been you, Buck,” Steve smiled, and Bucky could almost still picture the young, short, scrawny Brookline nobody he had fallen for all those years ago. What a somebody he had become.

“Till the end of the line,” Bucky said, and Steve nodded.

“Till the end of the line.”

  
_ To the end of the line,  _ Bucky thought while the wind whipped his hair as he plummeted from the train,  _ it will always be you, Stevie.  _ He closed his eyes and swore he could smell lavender.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment always appreciated :)

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment! I live off them, and they mean the absolute most to me. Thank you for reading!


End file.
